“And you didn’t want to take the time
to come over here to see me, did you?”

“Oh, I shall have time enough to do all I want
to do,” said Patty.

“Don’t evade my question, child.
You didn’t want to come, did you?”

“Well, Miss Daggett,” said Patty, “you
are often quite frank with me, so now I’ll be
frank with you, and confess that when your message
came I did wish you had chosen some other day to send
for me; for I certainly have a lot of little things
to do, but I shall get them all done, I know, and I
am very glad to learn that you are coming to the entertainment.”

“You are a good girl,” said Miss Daggett;
“you are a good girl, and I like you very much.
Good-bye.”

“Good-bye,” said Patty, and she ran downstairs
and over home, determined to work fast enough to make
up for the time she had lost.

She succeeded in this, and when her father came home
at night, bringing Mr. Hepworth with him, they found
a very charming little hostess awaiting them and Boxley
Hall imbued throughout with an air of comfortable
hospitality.

After dinner Patty donned her Diana costume and came
down to ask her father’s opinion of it.
He declared it was most jaunty and becoming, and Mr.
Hepworth said it was especially well adapted to Patty’s
style, and that he would like to paint her portrait
in that garb. This seemed to Mr. Fairfield a
good idea, and they at once made arrangements for
future sittings.

Patty was greatly pleased.

“Won’t it be fine, papa?” she said.
“It will be an ancestral portrait to hang in
Boxley Hall and keep till I’m an old lady like
Miss Daggett.”

When they reached Library Hall, where the play was
to be given, Patty, going in at the stage entrance,
was met by a crowd of excited girls who announced
that Florence Douglass had gone all to pieces.

“What do you mean?” cried Patty.
“What’s the matter with her?”

“Oh, hysterics!” said Elsie Morris, in
great disgust. “First she giggles and then
she bursts into tears, and nobody can do anything with
her.”

“Well, she’s going to be Niobe, anyway,”
said Patty, “so let her go on the stage and
cut up those tricks, and the audience will think it’s
all right.”

“Oh, no, Patty, we can’t let her go on
the stage,” said Frank Elliott; “she’d
queer the whole show.”

“Well, then, we’ll have to leave that
part out,” said Patty.

“Oh, dear!” wailed Elsie, “that’s
the funniest part of all. I hate to leave that
part out.”